


people should see how we're living

by deerie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Nogitsune, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 18:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17903660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerie/pseuds/deerie
Summary: She doesn't seem to mind that he doesn't say hello, instead jumping straight in with, "This is an astronomically long shot, but have you heard from Stiles recently?"Derek freezes, eyes flicking up to his own door like he could stare through and see Stiles' apartment. Stiles masks his scent from werewolves and he refuses to talk about Beacon Hills or anyone back home - of course Derek knows he's running from the McCall pack. What he doesn't know is why, or what to say to Lydia.He must stay quiet too long, because Lydia lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I hadn't heard from him in a week and -"





	people should see how we're living

Someone in an apartment down the hall screams at night.

*

Derek feels the sweat trickle down between his shoulder blades. The sun beats down, almost blinding, but the handle to his apartment building is cool under his hand. The air that filters out from the lobby feels even cooler.

The first person he sees is Mrs. Getzel, his left-side neighbor. Canvas bags of groceries litter the ground around her. She digs in her mailbox. Her mail – a few envelopes and a couple of magazines – finds its way into one of the lighter bags. She locks the box and turns around to smile at Derek. 

“I thought that was you,” she says.

Derek ducks his head and checks his own mailbox, feels heat stain his cheeks. He doesn’t have much, just a couple of bills that he shoves into his back pocket.

When he’s finished, Mrs. Getzel points to her groceries and says, “Well, help an old girl out.”

He does, because it’s polite and because she likes to gossip as she takes the stairs up to the third floor.

Mrs. Getzel is surprisingly spry in her old age.

While Derek knows a fair amount of the people who live in the building – they’re all friendly, but they all keep to themselves for the most part – Mrs. Getzel knows everyone.

Derek asks her about the screaming coming from 3F.

Mrs. Getzel clucks her tongue against the back of her teeth and says, “Oh, that poor boy.”

Derek hefts the bags a little higher and Mrs. Getzel grips the handrail firmly. “I offered him a little something for sleeping a few days ago. Just a little draught to keep his nightmares at bay, but he disappeared into his apartment quicker than I could ask what was wrong.”

Derek stays quiet.

“Wherever that boy’s come from, it wasn’t a good place. There’s a taste in the air whenever I see him,” she continues. “Bad magic.”

“No smell?” he asks.

“I don’t have your nose, Derek,” she admonishes. “But even if I did, there’s so much protective magic surrounding him that I don’t think anyone’d be able to tell anyway. Not even you.”

She pushes the door to the third floor open and holds it long enough for Derek to get through. He follows her to her door and waits as she slips her key into the lock.

“Is the scent masking intentional?” Derek asks. 

He can’t help it – he’s curious now about the mysterious tenant in apartment 3F. He chances a look down the hallway to the apartment in question, but it stays stubbornly shut.

Mrs. Getzel follows his gaze before ushering him into her kitchen. “It’s a different type of magic than I’m used to seeing, but I’m pretty sure it’s intentional. You know what that means, don’t you?”

Derek does know what it means and it’s troubling. He puts her bags down on the tiled floor, but she shakes her head at him when he goes to unpack them. “I can do that myself, Derek. Tell me what it means.”

Derek sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “It means he’s most likely running from ‘wolves.”

She bobs her head in affirmation. “That’s right. Don’t go scaring him off, okay? He looks like he’s been running for a while and if he feels safe enough to stay here, we need to let him.”

Derek shakes his head. “I’m not going to run him off. I haven’t even seen him yet. I don’t even know his name.”

“Oh, he introduced himself to me, but I can’t for the life of me remember what he called himself.” She pats her graying hair absently. “It started with a – oh, what was it? You’d swear I was finally getting old.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her, but she hushes him with a finger in his face.

“Maybe Z? or an G, possibly, I’m not sure.” She shakes her head. “M? It doesn’t matter. I need to make you a charm to soundproof your apartment. I’ve been selling them to the other tenants, but I like you. You carry up my groceries. Least I can do is help you out with this.”

Derek thinks about given her a token protest, but he knows he’ll only find a charm shoved under his door or in his mailbox tomorrow if he does. “Thanks,” he says instead. “The screaming was startling the first couple of times, but I mean, I know how to block loud noises out.”

Mrs. Getzel squeezes his arm. “You’re a poor boy too, Derek Hale. Now go on, get out of here. Don’t think I don’t know you just got off of work.”

He grins, a small thing, and shuts the front door behind him carefully.

When Derek looks up, he sees the door to the new tenant’s apartment swing shut. He can hear the person behind the door snapping the lock shut.

Derek sniffs the air once, but Mrs. Getzel was right – there’s no scent at all.

*

Weeks go by before Derek manages to catch a glimpse of the mysterious new tenant. The screaming continues, but Mrs. Getzel’s charms work well to block out the sound. The charms don’t extend to the hallways, however, and that’s the only reason Derek knows that the screaming still happens.

Derek runs up the stairs after work, eager for a shower. He works at a bar a couple blocks down and it’s something to do - something that keeps him from dipping into the insurance money from the fire. 

Some drunk guy spilled a drink on him right as he got off work and he can feel the sickly sweet syrup drying between his fingers, can smell the sharp tang of alcohol soaked into his shirt. 

He gets the key in his door when he feels the eyes on him. 

Derek turns around slowly because the weight of that sort of gaze has never meant anything good for him. 

Standing at the end of the hall is none other than Stiles Stilinski. 

Derek feels his hands slacken and knows had his keys not been firmly lodged in the lock, they would have dropped to the floor. “Stiles?” he asks. 

Stiles stares at him, eyes rimmed red and dark bags beneath them. His mouth turns down at the corners but there’s a glint in his eye. “Of all the gin joints,” Stiles says, something dark curled in his voice. 

Derek doesn’t like it. He sniffs the air once, twice, but there’s no scent clinging anywhere near Stiles. 

Stiles is the mysterious tenant. 

Derek doesn’t know how Stiles has been here for months and he not know it. 

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks. 

Stiles gestures with a hand toward the apartment he’s been living in. “What does it look like? It’s interesting, though, I had no idea - well, no, that’s a lie. I knew you were here. Can’t say we expected to meet like this, though.”

The door to Mrs. Getzel’s apartment swings open and whatever presence Stiles has falls away like ash crumbling away in the wind. 

“Oh!” Mrs. Getzel exclaims. “Am I interrupting, dears?” 

Stiles looks like a scared little boy. He shakes his head, runs a hand over the beanie on his head, and stutters, “N-no. Didn’t realize Derek lived here is all.”

Derek notes the direct contradiction, but doesn’t say anything.

“Do you two know each other?” Mrs. Getzel asks, her sharp eyes roving over Derek like she knows how unsettled he feels. “What are the odds?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, “what are the odds?”

Stiles quirks a smile but it isn’t anything Derek has ever seen on his face before. The smile lacks the joy he’s used to seeing in Stiles.

“Dear, did you think about that sleeping draught I offered you? I do think it would do you a world of good.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I’ve got enough, thanks.”

“Enough what?” Derek asks. 

Stiles locks eyes with him. “Magic,” he says. 

He disappears into his apartment in the next breath. 

No scent, no Stiles - Derek wonders if he imagined him up. 

“Poor boy,” Mrs. Getzel croons. “Now, how do you know him?”

“He’s from where I’m from,” Derek says. 

“Poor boys,” she croons. “Poor, poor boys.”

*

Stiles offers up the electric razor as soon as he lets Derek into his apartment that night.

Derek runs a hand across the scruff on his own jaw and asks, “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Stiles smiles faintly but shakes his head. “Would you help me shave my head? I can’t get it even when I do it myself.”

Derek takes the clippers from him and says, “Yeah, no problem.”

Stiles scratches the back of his neck. “Can we do it now?”

At Derek’s nod, Stiles leads him back to his small bathroom. Stiles perches on the tiny counter so Derek can squeeze into the space in front of him.

Stiles moves a hand up to his head like he’s going to pull his beanie off, but he stops with his fingers a hair's breadth away from the edge of it.

Derek dawdles while plugging the cord of the clippers into the plug, giving Stiles the space he obviously needs.

Everything about this new Stiles is hesitant and unsure and it’s weird. The Stiles he met in Beacon Hills had no qualms about anything and no filter whatsoever and this Stiles – this Stiles is quiet and wary, except for the times he screams himself out of nightmares.

Stiles finally pulls off his hat and Derek realizes why he was so hesitant about it in the first place. Derek’s lips part in surprise as he reaches out and brushes gentle fingers against one of the bald patches littering Stiles’ scalp. The skin under this one is an angry red and Derek wonders how recently it happened. There are two more spots, but they look older and the hair is starting to fuzz over the bald skin.

Stiles curls in on himself and mutters, “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

He watches as Stiles becomes physically smaller – tucking his chin against his collarbone and hunching over even more.

Derek rubs a comforting hand across the back of Stiles’ neck. He wants to ask who did it, but he’s pretty sure he knows the answer and he doesn’t like it.

Stiles confirms his suspicions anyway. “I think I’ve been pulling it out in my sleep. I’m not sure.”

Derek drags his hand down between Stiles’ shoulder blades and the tension shudders from his shoulders. Derek knows what it’s like to lose or leave a pack – just because Stiles is human doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the loss of casual touch a pack gives.

Stiles uncurls just enough for Derek to ask, “Are you ready?”

Stiles nods and sits up straight. The clippers whirl to life under Derek’s hand.

Stiles rests his elbows against his spread knees as he leans far enough forward that Derek can set the clippers against the nape of his neck and drag them over the crown of Stiles’ head, stopping gently against the top of his forehead.

Stiles sucks in greedy mouthfuls of air as Derek brushes the cut strands of hair off of his neck and then starts again at the back of his head.

Derek feels Stiles’ fingers twist themselves into the belt loops on the sides of his jeans. He stays quiet and Stiles hangs on until Derek finishes the buzz cut.

Derek shuts off the razor and sets it down. His hands come up to cup the back of Stiles’ head. Stiles hums under his breath. His eyes must have slipped shut at some point because his dark lashes fan out against his cheeks.

His eyes open and he takes a moment to just look at Derek.

Stiles slips off the counter, even though there’s really no room for the two of them in the bathroom, and presses himself against Derek’s front.

Derek slides his hands down to cradle the sides of Stiles’ face. He can feel every point where they touch. He wants – he _wants_ , so badly. Instead, he says, “You should take a shower.”

Stiles dips his head, one side of his mouth upturned at the corner, and says, “You could come with me.”

Derek barely manages to keep himself from letting out a whine at Stiles’ words. He presses his forehead against Stiles and uses his grip on his face to pull him into a kiss.

Stiles’ response is a tentative press of lips.

When they break, Derek says, “Shower. I’ll wait.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees. He looks somewhere over Derek’s shoulder when he says, “Could you close the door for me?”

Derek presses his lips to Stiles’ forehead – tender, like this Stiles should be treated – and says, “Yeah.”

Derek leaves the bathroom feeling like he agreed to something completely different, but he’s not sure what it is.

*

Stiles is wherever he goes when he doesn't stay in his apartment, so Derek goes to his own apartment for what feels like the first time in days.

The air feels stale around him. 

Derek's bed smells like the bed in Stiles' apartment. Derek frowns; both beds only smell of him. Stiles feels like a ghost in the moments Derek shares with him, but he feels like a wisp of smoke when Derek is alone. 

Stiles' lack of scent makes the feeling worse. 

He leaves the bedroom door open when he goes into the kitchen. There are some bills Derek has neglected the past couple of days, so he sits down at the table and decides to get those out of the way while he still has money in his bank account. He doesn't want to have to worry about them until the next month. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Lydia's name flashes up on the screen and he only considers not answering her for a moment. He swipes the call open because she really never calls him and if she's calling him now, it must be important. 

"What's wrong?" He greets her.

She doesn't seem to mind that he doesn't say hello, instead jumping straight in with, "This is an astronomically long shot, but have you heard from Stiles recently?"

Derek freezes, eyes flicking up to his own door like he could stare through and see Stiles' apartment. Stiles masks his scent from werewolves and he refuses to talk about Beacon Hills or anyone back home - of course Derek knows he's running from the McCall pack. What he doesn't know is why, or what to say to Lydia. 

He must stay quiet too long, because Lydia lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I hadn't heard from him in a week and -"

"Wait, what?" Derek doesn't bother hiding his confusing. "What's going on?"

Lydia stops short. "He hasn't told you?"

"Told me what?" Derek growls, frustrated. 

Lydia's quiet on her side of the phone. Finally, she asks, "How does he seem?"

"Quiet," he says, thinking back to their first encounter. "He was really paranoid at first. I didn't even realize he moved into the apartment building for the first couple of months. He's timid. What happened in Beacon Hills after I left, Lydia?"

Lydia lets out a short burst of air; she only really believes in secrets when they benefit her in some way. "It was really bad, Derek. You know that Allison, Scott, and Stiles sacrificed themselves place of their parents, right?"

Derek hums in the affirmative. 

"Deaton said their sacrifice opened up a door in their minds."

"What does that mean?" Derek asks. 

"Scott couldn't control his alpha powers. Allison lost chunks of time. She said Kate was haunting her. She nearly killed me. Stiles," her breath hitches. "Stiles had these, these terrible nightmares - hallucinations, nightmares, he never knew if he was awake or not. He couldn't read anything. It was like their sacrifice - like the Nemeton-"

"Took what was most important from them?" Derek finishes for her.

"Yes," Lydia agrees. She continues on, "Deaton told them they had to close the doors in their minds as soon as possible. It got really bad, Derek. A lot of things have happened in this town, but this scared me the most."

Derek sits with his head in one hand, the other pressing the phone against his ear. The guilt he felt while leaving Beacon Hills with Cora flares back to life. 

"By the end of the year, Scott and Allison both closed their connection to the Nemeton. Stiles told us he shut his, but -" she trails off there. "This is my fault. I was supposed to bring him back and I wasn't strong enough to do it."

Derek has never interacted with Lydia - not really, and while she was under the sway of his uncle doesn't count - but he can honestly say that he's never thought of her as weak. 

"Is he okay?" Lydia asks, voice just barely trembling. 

"He's alive," Derek says firmly. "But you still haven't explained all the magic surrounding him."

“Deaton and I, we researched our options for weeks. For all the lore there is on sacrifices, there isn’t much on what happens after - because usually the sacrifices stay dead, you know?”

Derek thinks of Paige and then squashes that memory down.

“And Stiles just got worse. One night he went missing and Scott’s dad found him in a coyote den, half out of his mind and close to hypothermia. He screamed all the way to the hospital.” Lydia stops talking for a moment to breathe, in and out, until she calms down. “Deaton thinks that Stiles’ proximity to the Nemeton is what caused his quick deterioration. It was my idea for Stiles to leave Beacon Hills. I talked to his dad first and he agreed. The only person who disagreed was Scott.”

“Why would Scott disagree?” 

“Scott thinks that he can’t protect Stiles if he isn’t actually in Beacon Hills. But how do you protect someone from a mystical connection to a tree stump?” Lydia exhales through her nose and laughs humorlessly. “Deaton cast the spell to mask Stiles’ scent so Scott can’t track Stiles down. We know the distance is helping him. The first week he was gone, he could read again. We’ve been emailing on and off for months.” 

“That’s the only magic Deaton did to him?” Derek asks urgently. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course I am,” Lydia confirms. “I was there when Deaton cast the spell. Why?”

“Lydia,” Derek starts, unsure of how to tell her. “I don’t think that’s all that’s been done to him. I mean, yeah, he’s definitely had his scent scrubbed, but that’s not all. I can’t give you specifics, but I know someone who can. I’ll give her your contact information, if you want.”

“Yeah,” Lydia says faintly, and then, “Oh God, I’m going to be sick.”

*

Derek has one arm tucked under his head. Stiles lies on his side facing Derek. His eyes keep slipping in and out of focus, like he’s watching something far away. Derek watches him from the corner of his eye carefully. There’s a hair’s breadth of distance between them.

It feels like the distance to the moon instead. 

Stiles opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and then closes it just as quickly. And then, “I know you’ve been talking to Lydia.”

Derek rolls to his side and doesn’t bother to deny it. 

Stiles chews on his lip and stares at something past Derek. His eyes flick back and forth rapidly. Derek barely keeps from glancing back to see what Stiles is looking at. He already knows there isn’t anything there. 

“I’m not going to be okay,” Stiles finally says. “There’s no getting better.”

Derek reaches out with his free hand and encircles Stiles’ bicep. “Tell me,” he says. 

Stiles inhales sharply through his nose. “There was something trapped in the Nemeton. Something imprisoned there a long time ago.” 

Stiles laughs - if the wretched, ugly sound that wrenches its way out of his chest could be called a laugh. 

“My body’s a prison,” he gasps wetly, “for a monster I can't ever escape.”

Stiles flinches back so violently from something only he can see that he almost jerks himself off of the bed. 

Only Derek’s grip on his arm keeps him still. 

“There has to be something we can do,” Derek starts to say, but Stiles cuts him off by shaking his head. 

“No, I, um-” he starts. He swallows and says, “I made sure that it can never get out.”

Stiles laughs again and it’s nothing like the joyous laughter Derek used to hear spill out of his mouth.

*

When Derek steps out from the stairwell and into the hall, all the color seems to drain from the world. Everything mutes.

Stiles stands at the end of the hall. There’s something wrong, though, Derek thinks. He isn’t the scared boy he’s been in the months that he’s been here. Derek thinks back to that first day, when he realized Stiles was the one screaming: the way Stiles acted when he realized he had been spotted - the way his smile curled darkly over his face and his voice sounded molten, the way he melted back into a cowering kid when Mrs. Getzel interrupted them.

Pieces start to click together in Derek’s head. 

The thing wearing Stiles’ body looks down at the floor and smirks. “Finally caught up, we see.”

A chill runs up Derek’s spine. 

It stares up at Derek and slowly cocks Stiles’ head. The move is entirely reptilian and eerily reminiscent of the kanima. 

“You aren’t Stiles,” Derek growls. 

“No,” it says. “But we will be.”

“Why?” Derek grates out. “Why are you doing this?”

“We smelled you,” it breathes in deeply, “in Beacon Hills. We smelled your pain and wondered if you’d taste as delicious as we thought you would.”

It steps closer, quicker than Derek can track, and gets right into his space. It drags its nose against Derek’s temple. “He never stops screaming,” it says. “He tastes so good.”

Derek clenches his fists by his sides. The thing wearing Stiles’ body leans against him heavily. “We think you will too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even go here anymore, but this draft has been kicking it in my Google Drive since 2017 and I guess now is the right time to share. I really enjoy how dreamy and disjointed it is, even if it isn't particularly happy. The intent here was to play with how the scenes were structured -- Derek's scenes are more saturated with detail and the scenes with Stiles are more muted -- and I do like how it turned out, I just ... never got around to posting it, ha!


End file.
